In Majagua, for most of the year, people can dress on the color they want, but you must decide in November. You must be Red or Blue, by choice, by inheritance, or just because, and you do not have call to anyone or call for too many meetings so that everyone to know their role. Some dance and others sing, but the majority eats the fruit (and traditional sweets); young people learn the chords and steps of Zumbantorio or El Papalote, and matrons prepare the food for feasts.
Then, Joaquina and Pancho prepare the party for the engagement of Venancio and Margarita. It’s the end of the year, December 31, 1898 and there are dolls and roast pork. Young people dance the Guanche and Zumbantorio, and rescue La ratonera from memories.
Cuba and Liborio, from that sort of pedestal where the nation and its people should always be, participate in the festivities. Four hours of partying, two per side, release all the passions of a tradition which they do not want to let die, they cannot let die, because not only the excitement and joy of those days would leave, but the very spirit of the culture that brought them here.
People feel deep inside rivalry around colours. They believe in competition, on how to dance the same step in a different way, in the joy of wearing a scarf, a symbol of belonging.
The red team won, I think they deserved it. But beyond competition between sides and affinities, which in my opinion would be better reflected if melting the two shows to make a real dispute onstage, although typical spaces are maintained; far beyond the efforts combined for that day seeking to please crowds, Majagua must cling to the only thing that saves: its tradition; that joy on the faces of old people and children, the charm of having a bicolor soul, the energy with which the girl screams: long live red side!, and another replies: long live blue team!
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